


Cupcake Chronicles

by geckosandstarks



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (but mostly fluff), Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I'm so sorry, Jealousy, Kissing, LIKE ALL THE TIME, Non-Graphic Smut, Original Character(s), Swearing, awkward bellamy at points, bc he's an adorable little puppy, it's a fluffy oneshot about bellamy owning a bakery, okay, that's basically it, this has v little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4622547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckosandstarks/pseuds/geckosandstarks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like most beginnings, theirs was unavoidable.<br/>OR<br/>That fic made almost entirely of fluff wherein Bellamy owns a bakery, and Clarke is his favourite customer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cupcake Chronicles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzy/gifts).



> For Lizzy - You're quickly becoming one of my favourite people in the world. We might not have been friends for long, but I just love you a lot. Happy birthday babe, this is for you. :)

** Cupcake Chronicles **

Like most beginnings, theirs was unavoidable.

It’s perhaps the worst of days, a sullen night made darker by the shriek of thunder and clap of lightning, and yet it is the one they meet on, and as she slips into the tiny bakery, peeling walls and leaking roof having seen better days, Bellamy glances up, peering at her over rows of layers of sponge and cream cheese frosting.

Sighing, he tosses the cleaning rag in the sink behind him, clearing his throat to announce that he was quite literally just about to lock up, when, seemingly pulled out of her thoughts, her gaze flicks up to meet his, blue eyes made beaming  by the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Her blonde hair hangs around her face, and she makes no effort to push it back as it continues to crowd her features. Her eyes brim over with tears, which trail down her cheeks in quick succession, making her already red cheeks stand out brighter as her eyes grow puffy. Her bottom lip almost trembles in sadness and with a sudden feeling of intrusion, Bellamy looks away.

Feeling a sharp pang of sympathy for the small, crying girl in his bakery, he turns towards the cupboards, pulling out a bag of marshmallows.

As he slowly walks towards her, his feet hitting softly against the wooden floor, she looks up again, apparently more aware this time as the words bubble over.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s really late and you were probably just about to close, I just-“

She is silenced as he places down a steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of her, complete with whipped cream, chocolate and an array of melted marshmallows. She glances between him and the cup continually, brow creasing and lips coming to a slight pucker as she regards him.

“I don’t- I don’t have any money.” She says quietly, shaking her head minutely.

“Consider it a free apology for the current shitiness of your surroundings.” He replies, glancing at the faded wallpaper and dirtied tables, tilting his head slightly and grinning in hope to relieve the frown set on her features.

A tiny, subtle smile slips on to her lips as she flattens her hair with her hands, tucking the damp strands behind her ears. “Thanks.”

“No problem. May I sit?”

She shrugs slightly, gathering her hair behind her in a loose bun. “Sure.”

As he sits, he takes a moment to look at her, now he sits close enough to see. Her eyes are not quite the startling blue he’d first thought them to be, pale enough to almost be considered green, until you saw the subtle spill of blue swimming in them, but they stand out prettily against her pale skin and blonde hair. Her lips have a red shine to them, seemingly from biting and licking them, which she alternates between as she stares at him in turn.

She sniffs, drawing up her legs as she dips a finger in the cream of her drink and licks it off thoughtfully. Bellamy coughs awkwardly at the motion, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

Eventually, perturbed with the constant silence between the two, Bellamy speaks up again.

“Are you alright?”

She smiles at him again, all teeth and no substance.

 “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Bellamy’s eyebrows raise as he considers her, leaning back in his seat before suddenly leaning forwards again, resting his elbows on the table.

“Look, I gotta be honest with you here. You look wet, miserable and vaguely unfulfilled.” He admits, a kindness in his eyes that soothes any sting the words could’ve left.

“Like sex with my ex-boyfriend.” She sobers, and Bellamy cracks up in fits of gladdened laughter, finding suddenly that he enjoys immensely, this brooding, sarcastic girl. Clarke cracks a genuine grin at his amusement, taking a sip from her drink.

“I’m Bellamy. Bellamy Blake.” He announces with an ear-splitting grin, watching as tendrils of blonde slip from the elastic band in her hair.

She nods at him, eyes still shining, though now not from tears.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bellamy, Bellamy Blake. Points for originality on the name of the place.” She comments, tilting her head backwards, and Bellamy suddenly understands she is referencing the name of the bakery – ‘ _Blake’s cakes’._

 He places a hand on his chest, hovering above his heart as she schools his features into mock hurt.

“If you’re suggesting that the name of my bakery is anything less than genius, then I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.” He says earnestly, earning a snort of laughter from the girl.

“Clarke. Clarke Griffin.”

“Well, Clarke, Clarke Griffin, it’s a pleasure to make your vaguely unfulfilled acquaintance.” He confirms with a nod watching her laugh over the rim of the chipped mug, pink lip gloss smudging the side.

“So Clarke,” he begins, and ‘hmm’s’ quietly, a smudge of cream on her lip. “What brings a nice girl like you to a rundown bakery at 11pm on what could very well be the worst storm of the year?” He queries, resting his chin on an open palm.

She sets down her cup, wiping over her mouth with her sleeve and smiles faintly at him.

“Don’t recall telling you I was nice.”

“Don’t recall telling you I was honest.”

Her smile grows a little larger.

“So, you don’t think I’m a nice girl then, Mr. Blake?”

He laughs through his answer.

“I think a nice girl would stop dodging the question, Ms. Griffin.”

“Oh, then I’m definitely not one of those.”

They set a pattern for the rest of the night, laughing at one another even as the storm rages on behind them – it grows quieter as their voices grow louder, joking and teasing and flirting, with all that becomes in between, they are together for long enough, that Clarke orders Bellamy to refill her hot chocolate at least twice, more often than not accusing him of skimping out on the marshmallows.

Finally, inevitably, Clarke grows quieter, draws into herself as the rain pelts behind them.

“I think-“Bellamy stills at the break in her voice, the sudden sombre mood the room has taken. “I think I might have just lost the greatest opportunity of my life.”

She looks up him, questions in her eyes that he has no answers for. He remains very quiet for a few minutes, allowing time for their thoughts to fill the space before finally, inevitably, he leans across the small table, and carefully brushes his fingertips with Clarkes, the warmth of their fingers melting together.

“Well then, I guess that just means you know you’re supposed to find it.”

She lets out a breathless laugh, eyes fixing on his in a moment that is wholly theirs.

“I guess it does.”

His gaze holds for long enough that her lips melt into a smile, falling away from the tremble they had fixed onto, and so eventually he leans back, still smiling.

“Hey, you know what makes everything better?” He asks gently.

“T.V. Dogs. No wait, FOOOOOOD!” She realises suddenly, pointing at him as he gets up from his seat and reaches behind the counter.

“All three are correct, but seeing as we only have access to one at the current time…”He trails off, turning away from her so he can hide what he holds.

“Clarke, meet the greatest thing that will ever happen to you.” Bellamy announces dramatically, spinning suddenly so she can see the muffin in his hand.

Clarke stands suddenly, placing one hand on her chest, and the other on the table seemingly to keep her upright.

“What… is that glorious thing?”

Bellamy smiles, nodding at her reaction.

“This baby here? She’s half blueberry and white chocolate, half triple chocolate topped with a vanilla frosting and caramel sauce and chocolate pieces.” Bellamy’s voice drops to a dramatic stage whisper, almost cradling the food in his palms. “ _She’s everything, Clarke.”_

Clarke nods eagerly, almost drooling at the sight of the cake. She cups her palms as Bellamy slowly leans to place it in her hands. Once it is within her immediate reach, Clarke wastes no time in tearing away the flimsy wrapper, and sinking her teeth into the moist dessert.

“Oh my god.” She moans through a bite. “This is so much better than an orgasm.”

Bellamy chuckles, watching her with a certain fondness in his eyes.

“Vaguely unfulfilled strikes again. _Damn_ his micro penis!”

Let the record show that Clarke Griffin certainly did _not_ end up calling a taxi back to her apartment at 4am that morning, nor did she smack Bellamy up the side of his head as she left, a certain gleam in her eye that promised she had not quite finished getting to know him just yet. After pleasantries and smiles had been exchanged, Clarke turned back suddenly, just before she clambered into the back of the car.

She smiles at him over her words, as he did her as he shook his head over a wave.

“I’m quite afraid you’re going to become a habit, Bellamy Blake.”

“Oh, Ms. Griffin, I’m quite afraid you already have.”

.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .    .    .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .    .    .     .     .     .     .    .   

The next time Clarke slides in through the old, creaking door, Bellamy fails to notice her entrance, seemingly engrossed in a conversation with a difficult customer, complaining that the icing on his cupcake had been ‘skimped out on’, and had apparently been left feeling victimized.

Clarke smiles at him as he ducks his head, his voice low as he tries to calm the man who was in fact making no effort to keep his complaints quiet.

As the man stalks out through the door, Clarke can’t help but snigger at the look of utter relief as it washes over Bellamy’s features, and despite her constant giggling, Bellamy still does not glance over.

So, still shaking her head in laughter, Clarke pulls out her sketchbook, bringing up her knees to her body, and begins to concentrate on her drawing, frowning slightly and biting down on her lip as the pencil scratches away at the smooth, slightly yellowed paper.

She herself becomes so captivated in her precision, that when a steaming cup of overflowing hot chocolate, and an (even better than an orgasm) muffin is set down in front of her, she does not look up until Bellamy casts his body into the chair next to her, balling up his apron and throwing it to the side.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Clarke questions, tilting her sketchbook away from him as he tries to peer inside.

He grins, shaking his head.

“Nope, I’m off the clock. O was overdue to start her shift anyway.” He says, tilting his head to where a girl around her height with dark hair passes a small cupcake to a customer, grinning and waving slightly at Clarke when she looks over.

Clarke nods back with a broad smile, before turning back to Bellamy, studying him for a moment.

“What? Is there flour on my face _again_?” Bellamy asks self-consciously, rubbing at his cheek.

Clarke laughs, shaking her head. “No, no you’re good.”

“Then what was with the staring?”

Clarke scoffs. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Liaaar.” Bellamy teases in a sing-song voice, only snickering when she shoves at him in retaliation. He shuffles a little closer to her, bumping his shoulder against hers.

“It’s alright, Griffin. You were mentally measuring out my cheekbones so you could get started on my portrait A.S.A.P, I know.”

Clarke raises a single eyebrow at his words, clicking her tongue.

“Hate to burst your bubble Blake, but I don’t draw people.” Clarke shrugs, snapping her sketchbook shut.

“Why?”

“People are too difficult. Too messy. Too much can go wrong.” Clarke mumbles, fading away from her laughter as she regards him.

Bellamy frowns slightly, noting her sudden change in demeanour. Again, he moves a little closer to her, the space between them quickly fading as his chair settles with a tap immediately next to hers.

“So you think I’m messy then?” He jokes weakly, trying gently to bring her out from her stupor.

The smile she gives him is puny at most.

“Oh, very.”

He quietens for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words, but his unhappiness is clear at how quickly she has fallen back into an impenetrable sadness, so he tries again.

“So what you’re telling me here is that in the entirety of that sketchbook, there isn’t a single self-portrait? Not even a single smiley face with blonde hair?”

The smile she gives him next is somewhat more genuine, though still saddened.

“No self-portraits. I’m like an inkblot on a page of pencil scribbles.” She comments, her eyes drifting as her thoughts apparently fade away from him, as does her attention.

Gently, he moves a strand of blonde hair away from her cheek, his finger skimming along her skin as he carefully pushes it behind her ear.

“Prettiest inkblot I’ve ever seen.”

Her attention drifts back slowly, but once he has it again, she smiles properly, tilting her head to the side as she teases him.

“You think I’m pretty?” She coos.

“Oh, very.” He heightens his voice, mocking her words, and as she goes to flick his shoulder, he dodges, laughing when she sticks out her tongue at him childishly.

She sips her cooled hot chocolate, and slaps his hand away when he attempts to steal a chunk of her muffin, and even though they didn’t really have to sit in the tiny bakery, they stay there till closing time, anyway.

.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .    .    .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .    .    .     .     .     .     .    .   

When the see each other again, Clarke discovers a new skill she hadn’t known she’d come to possess. The undeniable ability to make Bellamy Blake _jealous._

It’s a sunny day when she enters through the familiar red doors next, and Bellamy finds his smile forming quickly at the sight of her, watching her blue dress swish as she walks through the doors, sunglasses perched atop her head.

So utterly caught up within the girl, he fails to notice the man at her side until his arm is around her shoulders, laughing as they settle to a table.

His grin drops and transforms into an almost-glare as he watches the two, studying the blonde man, and unknowingly beginning to compare himself to him. This man in fairly taller than him, he notes quickly.

Is that what Clarke likes? Tall guys? Is that why she’s with this guy? Oh god what is she likes tall guys? 5’11 is tall, though right? This guy’s definitely breaching the 6ft mark. WHAT IF SHE HAS A RULE ABOUT THE 6FT MARK.

Bellamy is pulled out of his inner panic at the sudden appearance of a customer in front of him, snapping her fingers in front of his face. As he apologizes, reaching to grab a cookie, he keeps a single eye on Clarke, watching her out of the corner of his eye even as he places the customer’s order in her hands, accepting the money and giving her change.

 Eventually, the man with Clarke glances up to the counter, and immediately, Bellamy forces his gaze down, busying himself with the cash register for a moment before flicking his gaze back up, finding that the man is still staring, only now, with a single eyebrow raised.

Leaning over the table, he murmurs something to Clarke, causing her to look up, and smirk at the small frown on Bellamy’s face.

She bounds up from her seat, resting her palms on the edge of the counter.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

_Hi?_ Who said _hi?_ God, Murphy was right, he really is a little bitch.

“Are you alright?” Clarke asks, still smirking.

“I’m great. You know just, just fantastic. Don’t you think it’s just a fantastic day?” He blabbers incessantly, suddenly overcome with the urge to punch himself in the face.

“Oh, it’s definitely getting there.” Clarke snickers, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Why are you glaring at Wick?”

“Who’s Wick?”

Clarke tilts her head back slightly, indicating the man sitting at Clarke’s table.

“Oh, was I?”

“Yes you were.”

“Didn’t even notice. Must have just, y’know, caught my gaze.”

“Hmm.” Clarke says doubtfully, while still managing to smirk at him.

“So you wouldn’t, happen to be jealous at all?”

Bellamy laughs just a little too loudly, and just a little too girlishly.

“Me? Jealous? What? That’s crazy, Clarke. You’re crazy. Who is Wick exactly?”

Clarke laughs loudly, pressing her palms flat against the counter as she leans over it to press a kiss to his cheek, not completely unaware of the deep blush that overtakes his cheeks, trailing down his neck.

“I think I like it when you’re jealous.” She breathes out close to his ear, tickling the skin as she draws back, snickering at the visible effect she’s had on him.

Suddenly she catches sight of someone over his shoulder, eyes widening in recognition.

“Reyes! You dirty fucking sneak! When you told us to meet you here, I didn’t know that was because you w _orked_ here.” Clarke accuses loudly, drawing a few stares she doesn’t seem to notice.

Bellamy turns slightly to find Raven leaning against the fridge, arms crossed as she stares at the two of them with a knowing smirk, tilting forward to hang up her apron.

“Well, I didn’t know you wanted to fuck my boss, but I guess we all learned something new today.” She replied offhandedly, coming around the counter to press a kiss to Wick’s lips, who had stood to greet her. The couple both grin at the two, leaning into each other.

Clarke flushes deeply, glaring intensely at Raven as Bellamy seems to choke on air.

“Just because you and your boyfriend are sex addicts, don’t judge the rest of us.” Clarke shoots back, still glaring.

They both merely grin, unembarrassed, Wick twining his arm around Raven’s waist as they both head for the door.

“C’mon Griffin, we’ve got reservations!” Raven calls over her shoulder, before turning to already bicker quietly with Wick.

Clarke turns back to Bellamy with a flourish, still red.

“Um, I have to-“

“Go, yeah, I know.” Bellamy smiles, scratching the back of his neck. “Have fun.”

Clarke seems reluctant to leave, despite Raven’s impatient shouting.

“You could, you come with us, if-if you wanted.” Clarke says unsurely, biting her lip in apprehension. “I mean, this place isn’t that busy and I’m probably gonna be a serious third wheel otherwise.” She laughs dimly, rubbing her palms along her arms.

“I-“

“Would love to. He would love to.” A voice interrupts from behind them.

Octavia comes into view as she steps from behind Bellamy, smiling widely at Clarke, and crossing the space to offer her hand.

“Hi, I’m Octavia. And what my meathead big brother was trying to say was that he’d love to go with you.” The small, dark haired girl shook Clarke’s hand eagerly, watching the smiles break out on both of their faces.

“Are you sure, O? I don’t wanna leave all the work to you-“

“Bell, I’m fine. It’s fine. It’s closing time soon, anyway. Go have fun.”

Bellamy smiles at his little sister, wrapping her in a quick, tight hug before she can protest, and quickly slipping out of his apron and jumping over the side to stand next to Clarke, who beams up at him.

“You good?”

“Great. Let’s go.”

Octavia watches the two of them chatter as they leave, not failing to notice the way their hands gravitate towards each other, until as they leave through the door, Clarke is gripping Bellamy’s hand just as tightly as he grips hers.

She smiles, and gets back to work.

.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .    .    .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .    .    .     .     .     .     .    . 

“Oh great, a fucking cupcake shop. The place where diets come to die.”

As the wooden door creaks open laboriously, Bellamy glances up in mild interest, catching sight of a pretty brunette walking in, followed by Clarke, and his smile grows a little larger as he catches a glimpse of her, golden hair tickling her neck as she throws her head back in laughter.

As Raven tends to a customer, Bellamy walks around the side of the red island, leaning over as Clarke grins at him, raising her sunglasses. Despite the sweltering heat outside, he still begins to prepare her a hot chocolate, with Clarke helping herself to a muffin.

“Feel free to help yourself.” He says, mock-annoyed as she offers him a toothy smile over a mouthful of chocolate.

“Don’t I always?” She responds, though slightly muffled as she attempts to chew her food at the same time.

The girl next to her coughs, raising her eyebrows questioningly. Clarke mumbles some incoherently, and Bellamy rolls his eyes good-naturedly, throwing her a napkin. He holds out his hand to the brunette, charming smile already falling into place as she places her hand in his.

“I’m Bellamy, it’s great to meet you, uh,” He trails off, waiting for the girl to fill the gap.

“Lizzy. Nice to meet you too, especially because you own a cake shop.” She says easily, and to this Bellamy raises his own eyebrows in question, glancing back to Clarke, whose cheeks have rapidly began to form a red tint.

“Clarke’s told me a lot about you. I used to go to school with her and Raven.” Lizzy explains, smirking at Clarke as she glares back, finally pausing in her devouring of the muffin.

“And, by a lot, she means that I occasionally mention your name in passing conversation.” Clarke elaborates, flipping her sunglasses down as she reaches over the counter for her hot chocolate.

“No, I mean, you never fucking shut up about ‘Bellamy, Bellamy Blake’,” she mockingly quotes, ignoring Clarke as she shoves her shoulder roughly against hers. Bellamy laughs for a moment, before catching Lizzy share a knowing glance with someone over his shoulder. Curiously, he turns back for a moment, seeing Raven smirking at Clarke before catching Bellamy’s gaze, and quickly looking away from the three, though apparently unable to tug the smirk from her lips.

“Although,” Lizzy continues, purposefully eyeing Bellamy up and down, before dragging her eyes back upwards. “Now I’ve met him, I guess I can see why.”

Clarke chokes on her hot chocolate.

 While Lizzy attempts to stifle a quickly escaping laughter, Bellamy turns to Clarke with concern, resting a gentle hand on her back. As she recovers, batting away Bellamy’s worry, she fixes Lizzy in place with an incredulous look, which is somewhat lessened by the melted marshmallow smeared on her cheek.

“Uh, why don’t you guys sit down, and Lizzy, I’ll bring you a muffin if you’re hungry?” Bellamy offers innocently, wiping down the spilled hot chocolate.

There’s a gleam in her eye then, even as Clarke harshly snatches her arm in her grip and all but yanks her over to a table.

“Oh, I’m _starving._ ”

As Bellamy turns to get a fresh batch of muffins, he finds Raven hunched over at the till, red in the face with an uncontrollable laughter. She cradles her stomach, straightening for a moment, seeing him, before curling into a fit of laughter again, only this time, much louder.

Dark eyebrows furrowing in confusion, Bellamy tilts his head as she attempts to compose herself.

“What?” He enquires, oblivious.

 Raven only chortles, fanning her hand up and down in an attempt to cool herself. Shaking her head, she hands a customer a piece of lemon cake, wiping a tear from her eye as she opens the cash register.

Resigning himself to deal with it later, Bellamy snatches up a muffin and a small coke, heading over to where Clarke and Lizzy sit, smiling endearingly before placing the order down in front of the cute brunette as she returns his smile, despite the thunderous look that seems to have taken a hold of Clarke’s features.

“Did I interrupt something?” Bellamy asks, laughing a little awkwardly as he casts quick glances between the two, worrying.

“Nope.”

“Apparently.”

Lizzy slides her gaze over to Clarke, annoyance set in her features, and Clarke returns the look with little hesitation.

“So, I’m gonna go over there now…” Bellamy gestures gracelessly to the island behind him, arms flailing as he attempts to distance himself from the apparent tension that had formed in the space of time it took for him to get a muffin and a half litre glass of coke.

As he services customers, Bellamy very much tries to ignore the heated conversation taking place in the corner of the room between the two girls, he tries to ignore Raven’s little snickers whenever Clarke or Lizzy’s eyes wander over to where he works, staying on him for an amount of time that begins to become questionable, and he even tries to ignore when Octavia comes in, and Raven immediately pulls her over for a hushed conversation that sends her into quick bursts of laughter, sending furtive glances over to where Clarke and Lizzy sit – though, admittedly, he does try to eavesdrop on their conversation (which of course doesn’t work – Octavia just smacks him upside the head for being ‘so fucking _rude’.)_

Eventually though, he submits defeat, waving the white flag high in the air, throwing in the towel (seriously, he quite literally throws his dishcloth in the sink, super dramatically and sighing and everything), prepared to demand an explanation off _everyone_ so he could understand just _why_ everybody was laughing so much, seemingly at his expense.

He turns, cracking his neck when suddenly, pale hands seize either sides of his face, and he is tugged down as lips cradle against his.

For a moment, Bellamy does nothing, eyes practically bulging out of his head as he stands, almost transfixed, rooted in place as Clarke kisses him, lips moving against his in an almost rhythmic way, soft and alluring, and encouraging of his, even though they remain frozen in place.

It’s his hands that start to move first, drifting down gently to smooth against her waist, hinting at the top of her supple curves, before bunching the material in his hands, and slowly, _slowly_ , allowing his lips to take movement on top of hers.

The second they do though, the second his lips have had a true and _proper_ taste of her, it’s like he wants to _devour_ her where she stands, after so many weeks of almost-touches and smiles that demand to be so much more, he’s a floodgate of tension and w _ant_ for the woman in his arms, and it seems as though finally the barrier has broken, burst at the seams, and it’s a more than pleasure than to finally be able to hold her as he’s wanted to for so many hours, it’s more than desire to have her lips mould into his.

Her nails scratch lightly at the back of his neck as she twines her bare arms around his neck, and he brings his hands up to hold them in place, smoothing down the soft skin of her arms, feeling the hair stand on end. He smiles, enraptured within her, within this stolen fragment of a moment, as though they are alone, miles away from civilization, and not in a sweaty bakery recovering from afternoon rush.

He’s slips back into reality slowly, and even then it seems hazy to him, as though clutching at clouds. He’s distantly aware of claps and shouts, even a scream, but it’s all faded, barely a scratch of a noise compared to the sound of Clarke’s breathing.

Reality comes crashing down a little harsher however, when Octavia slaps him up the side of his head, cursing. Bellamy winces, turning away from Clarke for a second to stake his sister with an accusatory look.

“What? This is a bakery Bell, not amateur porn.” Octavia scoffs, folding her arms.

“Clearly you haven’t watched enough porn.” Lizzy shoots back, laughing as Octavia pulls a face as though she’d just bitten into a lemon.

Bellamy shakes his head in amusement, turning back to Clarke to press a single, chaste kiss to her lips gently, feeling almost euphoric in that instant, finding he needs no words then, they would only tarnish a moment so utterly faultless.

So instead, he loops his arm gently around Clarke’s waist, and she rests her head on his shoulder, turning to face the three grinning girls in front of them.

“Fina-FUCKING-lly!” Raven shouts, throwing her head back, catching a few scandalized stares, which she pointedly ignores.

“I told you it would work. You should listen to me all the time because my plans always work.” Lizzy states seriously, sipping on her coke as she leans against the counter.

“Alright, simmer down there asshole, I was the one that had the idea to get Clarke jealous in the first place.” Raven points out, pointing a cake-infused spoon at her.

“Uh, excuse you, I said she’d probably make a move if she saw someone else was interested first. Okay – your plan revolves around my whole POINT.” Octavia interjects, crossing her arms.

“No you did fucking not-“

“Yes I fucking did-“

“You’re both so wrong-“

“HEY!” Clarke shouts suddenly, making all three girls jump slightly, turning to face her. “What do you mean it was your idea to make me jealous?”

It’s amazing how quickly smirks can drop and expressions can grow sheepish.

“Well, y’see-“

“You guys were taking forever to get together-“

“So we just thought it’d be a good idea to, y’know,”

“Just, like, give you a gentle push in the right direction,”

“Or… a violent shove.” Lizzy finishes with a beam, flicking her eyebrows up for effect.

Bellamy and Clarke both turn to each other with matching looks of incredulous shock.

“So all that, I’m starving shit,” Clarke trails off with a variety of wide hand gestures, “was just to make me jealous?” She finishes disbelievingly, eyebrows drawn.

Lizzy suddenly becomes very interested in the floor, and scratching her neck, she offers Clarke a guilty grin. “Maybe?”

Clarke shakes her head.

“But, c’mon Clarke, you’ve liked him for weeks and both of you were just too awkward to make the first move, and I mean if you really hadn’t wanted to kiss him, well, you wouldn’t have just done that.” She finishes with a clear eyebrow raise, shrugging as she regards the two, still in a half-embrace.

Clarke looks up to Bellamy, smiling as he gazes down at her in an almost-loving fashion, before leaning slightly to press a kiss to the top of her head, sighing in contentment, and moreover, acceptance.

“I guess we really needed that push then, huh?” Bellamy asks quietly, as the girls disperse, apparently no longer finding the two interesting enough to hold their attention.

Clarke shrugs, smiling. “I’ve been waiting for you to make your move for a while now, Bell. Y’know, be ‘the guy’.” She air quotes, rolling her eyes.

Bellamy scoffs, pulling away from her to place a hand over his heart.

“We don’t see gender here, Clarke. I couldn’t be ‘the guy’, because I don’t see myself as a guy, but as a _human being._ ” He finishes dramatically, fighting off a grin.

Clarke laughs, shoving him away from her.

He gasps, cradling his shoulder and preparing himself for another lecture, but then she tugs him down for another kiss, and he forgets what he was about to say.

.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .    .    .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .    .    .     .     .     .     .    . 

Clarke thuds against the counter top, sliding back as Bellamy immediately settles himself between her legs, lips trailing down the column of her throat as she quickly discards her jacket, lost somewhere in the dark corner of the shop. She pulls his face back to hers with a breathy moan that becomes lost between them, vanishing in the blink of space Bellamy quickly finds his hands can fill.

Bellamy hisses a little as her hands slip underneath his t-shirt, and she pulls back a fraction of a space, alarmed for a moment.

“What? What is it?” The words tumble out in confusion.

“Your hands are cold.” He mumbles back, and she grins, pressing them squarely against his back and ignoring his complaint.

“Guess you’ll have to warm them up for me then.” She murmurs back.

He grins, and dives back into her embrace, lips and hands and teeth and tongue joining together to make her moan his name louder into the night.

She’s tugged away his shirt and his fingers are moving to slip down the straps of her top when a sudden clang sends them jumping miles apart.

Octavia stands between the two, hair up in a horrendously messy bun, dressed in a pair of loose shorts and a camisole, two metal saucepans in her hands, and glaring the _fuck_ out of both of them.

“Octavia, what the _fuck?”_ Bellamy pants, running a hand through his dishevelled hair.

“Oh, no no no no, not what the fuck me, what the fuck _you?_ I get that you want to celebrate your new relationship with lots of sex, some more sex, and oh, look! Even more goddamn sex. But some of us really need this thing called _sleep_ , and I can’t do that listening to you two go at each other on the fucking cooking counter – OH C’MON BELL THAT’S JUST NOT SANITARY.” Octavia finishes with a groan, holding out a hand to where Clarke still sits on the counter.

The couple share a tiny, sheepish grin, and Clarke tries, oh god she tries, to look guilty for Octavia.

“Octavia, I’m sorr-“ she begins, but Octavia cuts her off with a shake of the head.

“Don’t humour me, Griffin.” She warns, and Clarke completely loses her façade of guilty with a grin that barley holds in her snickers.

Octavia sighs, turning away from the scene of the crime, and, in the darkness of the place, tripping over Bellamy’s t-shirt.

Clarke snorts as Octavia trips, and immediately slaps a hand over her mouth to prevent any further laughs from escaping, but Bellamy’s quiet snickering does little to help her. Octavia sends them a death glare over her shoulder, hurling Bellamy’s top at him as though it were a bomb about to go off, right in his hands.

As she heads upstairs, she begins to mutter, making it harder and harder for Bellamy and Clarke to keep their giggles quiet.

“Fucking children- no fucking _horny_ schoolchildren, all they ever do is have sex and eat muffins in gross ways…” She continues on up to her bedroom, before she audibly slams the door shut, and finally, inevitably, having gone red in the face from trying to hold in their laughter, Bellamy and Clarke howl into the empty room, ignoring Octavia as she bangs down on the ceiling above them, in fact, her actions only causing them to laugh harder. They laugh until tears stream down their cheeks and only stop when the matter of breathing becomes a difficulty.

Sighing, still emitting tiny giggles, Clarke pulls Bellamy closer and rests her head on his chest, the perfect angle for him to lean down and press a chaste kiss to the crown of her head, smiling. He rests his cheek on her head of golden curls, matching her sigh with one of his own, finding a happiness he always does with having her so near.

Suddenly, she leaps down from the counter, digging out her jacket from the corner of the room, and turning to entwine her fingers with his.

“C’mon,” she says, pulling him along behind her before he moves closer, holding her from behind for a second as she pulls him out into the darkness.

“Where are we going?” He enquires, pulling on his jacket.

“Back to mine.” Clarke answers with a grin. “I just remembered Lizzy told me she isn’t gonna be home tonight.”

She’d never seen a man walk so fast as Bellamy Blake did that night.

.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .    .    .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .    .    .     .     .     .     .    . 

They have their first fight.

They have their first fight and he says it.

You know.

The words he’d only ever said to his mother and little sister that he’d never though he’d be repeating to anyone, definitely not in the sense he repeats them to Clarke now. The words that change everything. The words that can take you from ‘just having fun’, so something that demands a lot more of them.

He says _the words._

And Clarke doesn’t say them back.

It had been about something stupid, though it hadn’t seemed so insignificant at the time. An old flame had been coming into town, Lexa, Clarke had said her name was, and while her and Clarke hadn’t worked out romantically, they’d stayed friends, and she was coming into town, and needed a place to stay. As it turned out, Lizzy would be out of the country, visiting some friends, and Clarke had a spare bed going, so, being Clarke, she’d offered it to Lexa without a second thought.

She hadn’t really made a big deal about it, mentioned it in passing while Bellamy had stood in front of her, he’d been kneading some dough and Clarke had been sitting at the counter, making idle chit chat and watching him, occasionally commenting on his technique.

The argument springs up out of nowhere, he thinks, the words are barley off the tip of her tongue before he’s latching onto them and his voice is raising and hers is too, and they’re _shouting_ at each other and, oh, they’ve never done that before.

“Why can’t she stay at a hotel?” He demands, and the way his fingers are turning white has nothing to do with the flour and more to do with the way he clenches at the counter as though it is a life force.

“Because she’s my _friend_ Bell, and you don’t let friends stay at hotels!” She shouts back, and he’s suddenly very glad that the shop closed an hour ago and Octavia’s out and it’s just them here.

“She’s not your _friend_ Clarke, she’s your _ex_!”

“So fucking _what?_ We were friends before we were together!” She’s screaming at him now and oh god how did they get here.

“Yeah. And then you had sex. Real fucking friendly.”

“Oh fuck you.”

“Already did, princess. Already did.”

She’s _furious_. There’s a look in her eyes that dances dangerously close to _bloodlust_ when she glares at him, and hot, angry tears spring up in her eyes and stain her cheeks as they spill, and too late, _too late,_ he realises what a dick he’s being for no good reason, and as she slams her books into her bag, he lunge _s_ for hr with a thousand apologises already spilling from his lips.

“Fuck, Clarke, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Didn’t mean to _what?_ ” She roars at him, and wow, this really is a day of new experiences for them.

“What? You didn’t mean to automatically assume the absolute worst of me? Think that, what, just because my ex-girlfriend was coming into town I care for you so little that I’d jump into bed with her? Is that what you thought, Bellamy?”

“That’s not what I said-“

She scoffs, cuts him off with a look so tearfully devastated that it _hurts._

“You know what the worst part is, Bell?” She pauses, shakes her head, and there’s so much swirling in her eyes, but he thinks that the combination of the anger, the hurt and the _disappointment_ might just be the worst of it all.

“You didn’t even need to.”

She storms past him, roughly shouldering him out of the way and that tiny, dark bakery never felt so lonely as it did then, in those moments, for the first time in their relationship, for the first time since he’d ever _met_ Clarke Griffin, she was turning away from him.

It felt more like giving up on something that hadn’t even started and he hated it _he hated it._

So he runs after her, he’s stupid and irresponsible and leaves the bakery unlocked and vulnerable and he runs after her and he shouts her name until his voice runs hoarse, and then he shouts some more until he manages to catch the wisps of blonde hair, and he clings to them like a lifeline,

“Get out of my way, Bellamy.”

She’s not shouting anymore and he can’t decide what he hates worse: her angry, passionate shouting that could light the fuel for a thousand fires, or this quiet, resigned whisper, so small in comparison.

(At least the shouting showed something. At least it felt like something.)

“I love you.” He blurts out, because it’s true, because it’s been true for a long time now, but mostly because he needs her to feel something, he needs her to tell him that they’re going to be okay and that she loves him too, he needs her to say something, he needs her, oh god he needs _her._

She slaps him. She slaps him and she slaps him again, and then she’s hitting at his chest, her fists pummelling harder and faster against him until he catches them and he just holds her there for a minute, revelling in the fact that she’s doing s _omething._

“Don’t do that!” She screams at him, and he’s confused for a second before she shouts at him again. “Don’t say shit that you don’t mean!”

But he does. He means it with every ounce of him that he can, he loves her wholly, he loves her truly, and he loves her _entirely,_ and he thinks in that moment, that she will be the only girl that he loves like this, she will be his first and his last and with that knowledge, with knowing that, he is happy.

So he does something stupid, he kisses her, he kisses her to show her of course he means it, how could he not? He pours himself into that kiss, with every time he’s kissed her he’s given parts of his heart away, and with this kiss, with this he gives her all that remains of it, shoves it into her hands even though she refuses to take it.

With a shout she tears away from him, and as she runs, hair flying wildly behind her, he’s left to pick up the pieces of his broken heart.

.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .    .    .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .    .    .     .     .     .     .    . 

The two weeks in which she does not step foot in the Blake’s Cakes bakery are inarguably some of the worst weeks in Bellamy’s life.

He’s left replaying that same scene with her in his head over and over again, seeing her tear away from him as she’d swept down the street, hearing her converse slap against the sidewalk in her haste to get _away_ from him, feeling the sting of her slap over and over again, but he knows it isn’t the slap that cuts him most, it’s the bitter kiss her words leave behind.

Or rather, the words she hadn’t said.

Octavia tries, she really tries to cheer him up, to make him happy, but he just can’t seem to do it, not when in the space of a year he’d grown so attached to a girl he’d lost.

A girl he loved.

So he throws himself into baking, into doing whatever he can do that doesn’t remind him of _her._

He doesn’t go near the counter of muffins. Not once.

He runs out for supplies one day, tries not to think about baby blue converse slapping against the pavement (and, of course, fails), and when he gets back, finds Clarke, sitting at a table, drinking a hot chocolate.

He stares at her for a moment, he has to, he has to make sure what he’s seeing is real, because honestly, he doesn’t know whether to trust himself, or his sight, especially where she’s concerned.

And then she turns around and looks at him, and any doubts he could have had die the second her pretty blue eyes meet his, and he doesn’t see the dark bags under her eyes, he doesn’t see her messy hair or her few stray spots, her face void of makeup, he just sees Clarke, and he wants nothing, _nothing_ more than to gather her in his arms and keep her there, for as long as he can.

And then the thunder claps outside and their gaze is broken and Bellamy suddenly realises the influx of customers streaming in through the door, and that they are not alone, and so he motions his head upstairs, up to Octavia’s room where they can talk, and she offers a tiny nod and so, without touching, they pass Octavia and Raven working at the till (both shoot the couple worried glances, offering barley-there touches and smiles as they pass), climb the island, and take the tiny, narrow staircase to Octavia’s room.

Bellamy shuts the door behind them as another clap of thunder roars behind them, the wind whistling in tune. He barley hears it. All he can do is stare, deprived of her for two weeks, and though it’s not like he could ever forget the features of her face his own eyes spent so long seeing, he finds himself checking, checking everything’s there, that’s nothing’s changed.

“Bell-“

“Clarke-“

They cut each other off, and immediately look down, the tension settling around them.

“I-I missed you.” Clarke admits in a small voice, her head still down, her words murmured.

“Missed you too, Griffin.” Bellamy responds immediately, more confident in his answer than Clarke had been.

She looks up, bright blue eyes made so much brighter by the tears.

 “You hurt me, Bell.”

Her voice cracks and so does he.

“I never- I didn’t- I- I know. I’m so sorry, Clarke. I would never want to hurt you.” He swears, and she looks so tiny in that moment, that he wants nothing more than to cross the space and hold her, let the apologies lie in his arms that his words can’t seem to find.

“You know, I would never want to hurt you.” He repeats and he hates how his voice wobbles, how it makes him seem unsure when he knows, _he knows_ he doesn’t want to hurt her, and she must too. She _has_ to know.

“Why couldn’t you just trust me?” She says, eyes finally shooting up to meet his, and behind the sadness, there’s a fleck of the anger still there, still simmering.

“Why couldn’t you _believe_ me when I promised you she was just a friend?” She demands, a little harsher this time. The thunder picks up behind her, smacking into a tree but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“I do- do trust you. I just-“

“Just _what,_ Bellamy?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Tell me. Tell me why we had to fight in the first place.”

“Clarke, I don’t wanna do this-“He’s beginning to panic, he realises, edging further and further away from her and closer to the door, but he doesn’t want to do that, not really. She notices though, and strides forward quickly, pressing the door behind him shut, pressing herself against it as she clicks the lock.

“We’re doing this, Bell. Whether you like it or not. I am _not_ prepared to give you up over our first argument and I _won’t_ , do you hear me?” She questions harshly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Clarke you don’t understand-“

“ _Make_ me understand then, Bellamy.”

“I don’t wanna-“

“Tell me.”

“Clarke, please-“

“ _Tell me._ ”

“ **I DON’T DESERVE YOU.”**

The room falls silent, even the thunder seems to quieten behind them, awaiting what each will say to the other.

Bellamy sighs, drawing his hand up to press against his eyes, shaking his head as he turns to look at her, shrugging.

“That’s it, Clarke. That’s why we fought, alright? You told me about Lexa and you’ve mentioned her before, and you’re always mentioning all the charity work she does and everywhere she travels to help people and I just thought, well hey, maybe she’s someone who doesn’t work in a crappy bakery west of nowhere, someone who doesn’t have to pick up an second job just so she and her little sister can barely scrape by for the month, maybe she has a proper family who can sit around a dinner table and tell stories about when she was little and then sit down and play scrabble, maybe she has an actual house, and doesn’t just live above her crappy little bakery.” Too late he realises he’s said far too much, too late he realises he’s begun to cry.

“Maybe… maybe she’s someone that is meant to be with you, maybe she fits you better I ever could. I just thought hey, here’s someone who deserves Clarke, right at her doorstep.” He’s trying to keep himself together, for her, but honestly, he can barely remember the time he was truly whole.

“I was terrified I was gonna lose you, so I lashed out because I really, really didn’t want that.” He looks up, takes a few steps towards her, only to find her stunned into silence, no words waiting at her lips.

“Because I do, Clarke. I do love you. And I don’t care if you don’t believe me, I don’t care if you think I don’t mean it, because _I know_ I do. I love you, Clarke Griffin, and I don’t deserve to.”

He collapses onto Octavia’s bed, dropping his head into his knees, and in that instant, he fully expects her to get up, and walk out, leave him behind, the sad little boy who loved her, that much was true, but who also didn’t deserve her (that much was truer).

She always has cold hands, and he feels them now, pressing down on his neck gently and moving up to tangle in his hair, and when he does remove his head from his knees, she’s there, kneeling in front of him, eyes almost pleading.

He looks at her like she’s a goddamned miracle, because she’s the closest thing to a miracle he’s ever seen, with her wisps of golden hair that trial out behind her, with her summer sky eyes and mulled wine lips, he thinks she’s the closest he’ll ever come.

She lifts his head up higher, places her forehead against his and closes her eyes, guiding his shaking hands to wrap around her.

Leaning up, she kisses him gently, a barley there touch that promises of a thousand others, her fingers trailing gently across his cheeks as she stares at him with a look like awe in her eyes.

“You’re wrong, you know Bell.” She whispers quietly, and lightning flashes behind them, skies clouding grey.

He smiles crookedly but doesn’t say anything, just allowing himself this moment to hold her, and to have her soothe him like she does now.

“I could live a thousand lifetimes,” she continues, smiling gently before shaking her head, “and never be deserving of you.

He makes this strange sound, falling between a scoff and a breathless laugh as he regards her, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m quite afraid you’re going to become a habit, Clarke Griffin.”

She smiles, and it looks like something new.

“Oh, Mr. Blake, I’m quite afraid you already have.”

.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .    .    .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    .    .    .     .     .     .     .    . 


End file.
